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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614510">even when it runs into oceans</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter'>jamesstruttingpotter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), F/M, also a disgusting amount of em dash usage, honestly......... guys we all knew this was coming, kind of an office romance AU kind of a fake dates to a wedding AU, like frankly is there any enemies to lovers ship i do not stan, mostly just toph meddling Because She Can</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:55:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would you calm down?” says Toph, clearly enjoying herself. She leans on Katara’s arm to clear a crack in the sidewalk. “It’s some cousin’s wedding. I told my mother I wouldn’t go unless I could invite some friends, and she agreed on the condition that you all have dates, so none of you try to sleep with someone at the wedding.”</p><p>Katara has a hard time formulating a response to this. Her brain takes this moment to point out that Zuko’s steps are in sync with hers, which is, frankly, so embarrassing a thing to notice that she can’t do anything but stare at their feet for a few seconds. “Why,” she finally croaks, “would your mother automatically assume we’re trying to sleep with people at the wedding?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katara/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>even when it runs into oceans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This really ran away from me. I hope you all are staying safe, healthy, and (relatively) sane!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katara’s pretty deep into her market forecast model when her phone starts ringing from where it’s lying, forgotten, by her elbow. <em> TOPH</em>, blares her screen, accompanied by a truly horrendous selfie the girl had taken the last time they were all on Ember Island together.</p><p>She smothers a sigh and jabs at the <em> Accept Call </em> button. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she asks. Jian Yu shoots her a murderous look from three desks away, the blue light of his screens creating a ghostly pallor; she scowls right back.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you?” asks Toph. There’s an insistent banging noise echoing down her line and straight into Katara’s eardrums courtesy of her earbuds, which had previously been feeding her a soothing litany of lo-fi focus music. </p><p>She tamps down on another sigh and checks the time. “It’s only midnight,” she says. “Still a couple hours to go.”</p><p>“Quit,” orders Toph. “Live off the Bei Fong money with me.”</p><p>Katara’s too tired to muster up more than the token wave of irritation that washes over her every time Toph suggests this. She cycles idly through her Excel tabs instead, making sure the inputs are feeding into the proper calcs. “Why are you calling? And <em> what </em> is that noise?”</p><p>“Need a favor, sweetness. I’ve already roped Sokka into it.”</p><p>“That’s not a persuasive argument.”</p><p>“Well, Sokka got Suki on board.”</p><p>“Hm.” Her gaze snags on a row of projected figures that look way too low. She tries to imagine telling their client that their entire market size is smaller than their yearly revenue. Maybe she’d be fired, which honestly, was looking better the later the night got. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”</p><p>“No, because I want to talk to Zuko about it tomorrow, and I need you on board before then.”</p><p>Her eyes itch. Dry air is blasting straight into her face from the air conditioning vent above her desk. She’s going to have to review the assumptions that are driving this tiny number and rework them before her team touchpoint in the AM. “Is it really important?” she asks, already regretting it.</p><p>“Yes,” says Toph, gleeful. The banging noise gets, somehow, louder. “Okay, so I have to attend some fancy wedding and I want you guys to come with me.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound too bad,” she replies. She will later blame this unforgivable lack of foresight on scrolling through rows and rows of cells for hours on end. </p><p>“Great, so you can be Zuko’s date.”</p><p>Katara bolts upright. “<em>What?</em>” she demands. A dull throbbing makes itself known through the shock; she’s hit her knee against the underside of her desk.</p><p>“Can you take it into a conference room?” snaps Jian Yu, apparently reaching his limit.</p><p>Toph’s cackling maniacally into her ear. Katara takes a lot of pleasure in hanging up on her immediately.</p><p> </p><p>A scant handful of hours later, Katara re-enters the office to find that the break room Keurig on her floor is broken again. She takes one look at the used, half-wet pods scattered around the machine before feeling, suddenly and intensely, like throwing a chair through the window. Instead, she sweeps the pods into a nearby trash can, refills the water in the machine, and wipes down the counter with some Lysol. Then she washes her hands and heads downstairs.</p><p>She registers the bitter smell of burnt Keurig liquid - it’d be too generous to call it coffee - a split second before she turns the corner into the break room and nearly runs into a broad set of shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she says, startled, before a warm hand cups her elbow.</p><p>“You alright?” asks Zuko, brow furrowed.</p><p>“Oh, hi,” she says. She can feel a smile tugging at her mouth. “You getting caffeinated too?”</p><p>“It’s not a work day without drugs,” he replies, and looks relieved when she laughs. “What, uh—is the 30th floor break room closed?”</p><p>“No, the machine’s broken again,” she says. She opens the fridge to find no fewer than three jugs of milk, with an extra carton of oat milk to boot. “You know, it’s not really fair that you guys get the whole office’s milk order delivered to this floor.”</p><p>“I’ll carry one up for you,” he says. The machine hisses and spits just behind him. “Should I ask Ty Lee to take a look at getting a new Keurig up there?”</p><p>Katara abruptly remembers whose last name is plastered across all their business cards. “No,” she blurts out, slamming the fridge door closed. Zuko, who had been just about to take a sip of his sludge, nearly spills it down his shirt. “No,” she repeats, calmer. “That’s alright. I think it just needed to have its pods thrown out.”</p><p>He blinks. “Alright.”</p><p>This break room is incredibly small. Katara’s floor has a pretty large space, big enough for a few tables where employees can eat their lunches and dinners. This room is more like a closet. Zuko’s nearly got his back against the opposite wall and she’s still close enough to see the ridge of his collarbone as it disappears behind his neatly pressed Oxford shirt. His eyes are almost infuriatingly golden in the shitty fluorescent light.</p><p>Her hand is still wrapped around the fridge handle. “Um,” she says, and he jerks away from the Keurig.</p><p>“Yeah, you should—do you still want—uh, the milk? Upstairs?”</p><p>“I’ll just use it down here,” she says, squeezing past him to get to the machine. It feels like building management has turned on the heating system a month too early. </p><p>“Okay. Hey, see you tomorrow? Sokka’s tournament, right?”</p><p>Katara pauses in fumbling with her blonde roast pod to shoot him a sunny smile. “See you then!”</p><p>His footsteps recede down the hall. She finally jabs the brew button on the stupid machine and leans against the counter, hands braced behind her. “Toph,” she mutters.</p><p>She manages to get through the rest of the morning relatively unscathed, though Pakku has some edits to her model’s forecast assumptions that mean she can’t start loading numbers onto slides until probably later that night. That afternoon, she gets an email about her undergrad student loans that sends a curious thrill of dread and excitement straight through the pit of her stomach. <em> Outstanding balance: $9,482</em>, it reads. </p><p><em> Broke $10K</em>, she texts Sokka.</p><p>He immediately replies with a string of celebratory emoji. <em> MCAT prep time? </em> he adds, and Katara sends a fingers crossed emoji before surreptitiously opening up a personal Excel sheet on one of her screens. </p><p>It’s much simpler than her work models, just a quick budget projection she’d made as a college senior after receiving the offer for her current job. She had still been reeling from shock at the salary figure that had dropped from the HR representative’s mouth as he’d congratulated her on passing the interviews. </p><p>“We’re very excited to have you on board,” he said, and she choked out a few obligatory thank yous before hanging up and pulling open Excel.</p><p>“Three years, huh?” Sokka said once she showed him the spreadsheet. There was a familiar furrow in his brow as he clicked through her numbers. She felt an intense wave of irritated affection for him sweep through her at the sight. “Alright,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “So you’ll be 25 when you start med school? That’s normal, right?”</p><p>“I think the average age is 24. But that’s not too bad, I think.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’ll be a real grandma.” But his eyes crinkled up in the corners the way their dad’s did when he smiled. “I’m proud of you, Katara. I know those loans were stressing you out. Now you can start med school with a clean slate.”</p><p>She picked at the plastic lid of her latte, a flush overtaking her cheeks. “Maybe I should’ve just gone to State, taken that full ride.”</p><p>“Hey, but then you wouldn’t have been able to hang out with me and Zuko. Imagine your college experience without us wisely guiding you along the right path.”</p><p>She snorted. He scowled at her before his expression settled into something more serious. “Hey, have you talked to him yet? He was helping you out with the interview prep, right?”</p><p>“No, I was trying to figure out how to thank him without making it sound like I was trying to see if he got an offer, too. Any tips?”</p><p>Sokka looked uncharacteristically grave for a moment before shaking his head. “I’d just text him. He’ll be okay.”</p><p>So she did. Zuko was weirdly slow to respond. But when they finally got together for a coffee, he barely let her sit down before he started unraveling the whole truth: that his father’s family owned the company she was about to start at, that he had never really gotten along with his father since his mother had disappeared when he was little, that his scar had been the reason for his two empty years between high school and college. “But I swear, I didn’t even mention your name to anyone at the company,” he said, at the end and almost out of breath. He hadn’t looked at her the whole time, gaze instead trained on a small potted plant in the corner of the cafe. She was half-surprised it hadn’t burst into flames at some point. “Katara, I mean it. You got that on your own.”</p><p>His knuckles were white. Her own hand ached in sympathy from how tightly he’d been balling up his fingers. “So we’ll be coworkers?” she asked, and his eyes finally alighted on hers. “I’m glad. You can help me when I inevitably screw up a project.”</p><p>His smile was small, hard-won. “You won’t screw up a project.”</p><p>“You never know.” Her hand brushed against his arm before she knew what she was doing. “Thanks for telling me.”</p><p>In retrospect, that had probably been the beginning. Katara, now three years older and maybe three years wiser, is woman enough to admit that. She closes out of the spreadsheet and sighs, gustily enough to draw Jian Yu’s gimlet eye. Then she unlocks her phone again and texts Toph before she can think twice about it.</p><p>
  <em> I want more details before I agree. We can talk tomorrow at Sokka’s thing. </em>
</p><p><em> YES, </em> Toph replies, almost instantaneously. Do none of her friends actually work? Their response times are staggering. <em> Prepare to be convinced, Sugar Queen</em>.</p><p>There’s an unacceptably giddy feeling of anticipation welling up in her. She decides the only appropriate response is to put away her phone and lose herself in calcs for the next six hours.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka’s taekwondo tournament is, predictably, a loud and sweaty affair. Katara had fought tooth and nail to progress up to black belt with him when they were kids, after which she’d kicked ass at Suki’s self-defense seminars and called it a day. Sokka, on the other hand, had decided to open up his own dojo and teach kids, which ranges from adorable to exhausting depending on the age group being taught. The tournaments are usually hosted by one of the local dojos as a way of fostering a little friendly competition, and their gang had long ago been enlisted as permanent volunteers whenever it was Sokka’s turn to host. </p><p>“Can you please remove your tongue from her head,” says Zuko, voice flat. He’s carrying a stack of folding chairs back to the storage room, or at least trying to: Sokka appears to be eating Suki’s face whole in front of the door.</p><p>“I regret introducing you two,” Katara mutters. </p><p>“I think it’s cute,” says Aang, predictably. He’s back for a quick break between Peace Corps campaigns and seems as chronically incapable of being negative as ever. “Love is a beautiful force, you guys.”</p><p>Toph makes gagging noises from behind him. “Leave him alone,” says Katara, almost absentmindedly; she’s scrubbing vigorously at a mysterious stain on one of the tables that refuses to budge. She catches the other woman pulling a face in one of the wall mirrors and rolls her eyes.</p><p>“Need help?” Aang asks. She hands him the tube of Clorox wipes with a grateful smile. “Huh. Is this… fudge?”</p><p>“I don’t want to know,” she replies, and the familiar rhythm of his laugh sends a twinge of gratefulness through her. It had been hard, to say the least, saying goodbye to each other after years of dating, but she could no more imagine following him around the world than he could imagine staying home for her. Their hands bump against each other as they wipe down table after table, Aang telling her an animated story about some flying bison he’d encountered near an abandoned temple, and contentment burns warm and low in her chest. </p><p>“Dinner?” asks Sokka, once the dojo looks somewhat respectable, and soon they’re crammed into a tiny pho shop, warm yellow pools of light illuminating each table against the quickly darkening city backdrop. Katara rips mint leaves into her soup, elbow knocking against Suki’s as they eat; the salty sweet smell of hoisin sauce settles into the folds of her sweater, thick and comforting. </p><p>“You gonna have that?” Suki asks once Katara sits back in the booth, nearly gasping from how full she is. She shakes her head; Suki drags the bowl over to finish it off. </p><p>“How?” Katara asks weakly. Suki shrugs, mouth full.</p><p>Once even Sokka is done, Aang gives them all hugs goodbye and takes off on his bicycle, with promises to meet up for bubble tea later next week. Katara snags a mint from the hostess stand and unwraps it as the rest of them stand in the parking lot, waiting for Suki to win the argument about where Sokka had parked his car. It’s a little cold now that the sun has set. Toph hooks an arm through hers, easy, and clears her throat. “So, the wedding,” she starts, and Katara nearly swallows the mint.</p><p>“Do we have to talk about it now?” she hisses.</p><p>“You said we could talk about it today!” insists Toph. </p><p>She crumples the mint wrapper between her fingers. She loves Toph, she truly does, but at times like this that love is tempered with a healthy dose of wanting to strangle her. It’s not unlike how she felt about Sokka while they were both in middle school, except for the fact that she’s over a decade older now and theoretically supposed to be more mature. “No,” she says, “I mean—do we have to talk about it right <em> now?</em> In front of other people?”</p><p>“Why not? Everyone else has already said yes.”</p><p>Katara turns dumbstruck eyes to Zuko, whose unscarred ear is clearly turning red in the dim light of the street lamps. “Since when?” she manages.</p><p>“She got to me yesterday,” he mumbles, not meeting her gaze. Suki finally heads off to the left; they all shuffle along behind her dutifully. </p><p>“The dumbass didn’t even let me say what the favor was before he agreed,” Toph cackles, and Katara groans. She should’ve known; Zuko is particularly defenseless against Toph’s requests, something that Katara usually found cute and now finds incredibly - something. Inconvenient? Unfortunate? Terrifying?</p><p>She’s overheating. It feels like the collar of her sweater is sticking to the nape of her neck. Zuko, from where he silently walks beside her, is like a column of heat; she can’t help but notice how his hands swing by his sides, inches from her own fingers.</p><p>“Why do you even need us to go as dates? Why can’t we just show up as a big group of friends? And come to think of it, how are you going around inviting people to someone else’s wedding?”</p><p>“Would you calm down?” says Toph, clearly enjoying herself. She leans on Katara’s arm to clear a crack in the sidewalk. “It’s some cousin’s wedding. It’s going to be a million people because he wants to show off to literally everyone he knows, but it’s going to be incredibly boring. I told my mother I wouldn’t go unless I could invite some friends, and she agreed on the condition that you all have dates, so none of you try to sleep with someone at the wedding.”</p><p>Katara has a hard time formulating a response to this. Her brain takes this moment to point out that Zuko’s steps are in sync with hers, which is, frankly, so embarrassing a thing to notice that she can’t do anything but stare at their feet for a few seconds. “Why,” she finally croaks, “would your mother automatically assume we’re trying to sleep with people at the wedding?”</p><p>“She has a low opinion of all of you,” says Toph blithely. “Well, except Zuko, since he’s got more money than God.” A slight flinch is all that betrays his thoughts on this particular statement. “Oh, and because of what Sooyoung’s friends did at the last Bei Fong wedding. Well, maybe that’s not fair—it was mostly the soju.”</p><p>This has, against all odds, spiraled into a worse situation than where they started. Zuko, poor thing, seems to have finally reached his limit; he speeds up a little to catch up with Sokka and Suki. “I hope you’re not coercing him into anything he feels genuinely uncomfortable with,” Katara says, mostly for lack of anything else to say.</p><p>“He seemed pretty okay with it once I told him it’d be with you,” Toph says. Her tone is, surprisingly and suddenly, indecipherable.</p><p>“That makes sense,” Katara mutters, feeling heat rise into her own cheeks. “Zuko isn’t the type of person to do this with a random girl. I’m sure he only agreed because we’re good friends.”</p><p>Toph’s face goes through a series of impenetrable expressions. “Right,” she finally says. “Friends.”</p><p>“Stop,” says Katara. </p><p>“What?” says Toph, innocent.</p><p>“We’re not—whatever you think.”</p><p>“Well, that’s what’ll make this fun,” she replies, still innocent.</p><p>The mint’s sent a cool line of fire down her throat. She swallows and wishes for some water. “When’s the wedding?” she asks, hating herself.</p><p>“Saturday, two weeks from now.” </p><p>“<em>Two</em>—Toph, are you <em> joking?</em>”</p><p>“Nope.” And, yep, that’s definitely glee in her voice. Katara tips her head back to stare at the stars above for just a second, just long enough to briefly contemplate death. “Come on,” Toph adds, still altogether too casual. “It’ll only be a day. Everyone will be there, even Aang. He’s pretending to be my date.”</p><p>“Well, at least you two’ll have fun,” Katara mutters.</p><p>Suki’s found the car. Zuko tucks his hands behind his back and sticks a foot out to trip Sokka just as he goes to unlock the doors. A rare laugh cracks through his facade as Sokka springs back up to tackle him; the two of them thud into the car trunk, Sokka’s high-pitched threats echoing down the street. “What are those two idiots doing now?” Toph asks, exasperated. </p><p>Katara watches Zuko struggle against Sokka’s headlock and feels warmth tingle down her spine, sweet and heavy. “Fine,” she says, and it feels less like giving up than she’d expected. “I’ll do it. For you, though.”</p><p>Toph grins and squeezes her forearm. “Of course.”</p><p>Later, once they’ve dropped off Toph, Zuko turns away from his window to fix her with a surprisingly direct stare. “She’s not pushing you to do this, is she?” His voice is low beneath the familiar back and forth between Sokka and Suki in the front seats, and underneath that, the radio. “I can tell her we don’t want to go.”</p><p>“That’s alright,” Katara says, equally quiet. Her heart, absurdly, is thumping in her chest. The city slips by behind his shoulder, slices of light casting his familiar face into shadow. </p><p>He’s quiet for long enough that she thinks he’s dropped the subject. Then, right as they pull onto his street, he says, “We’ll get through it,” in a way that makes her shiver, half-concealed in the dark.</p><p>“Good night,” she says, a second after Sokka and Suki say the same thing, and his smile right before he closes the car door looks like it’s just for her to hold.</p><p> </p><p>The next two weeks are busy enough that Katara barely has enough time to eat meals, let alone look for Zuko around the office. Her project is due to end the same week as the wedding, which means shit is well and truly hitting the fan now; Katara breathes and eats and sleeps model output, which mostly entails 15 hour work days and feverish dreams about Excel formulas. She catches glimpses of him regardless, through conference room windows and at his desk, dark smudges below his eyes and shirt cuffs hanging loose around his wrists in a way that reminds her of finals season. She stops by the building canteen to get him kimbap and some soup, which she leaves on his desk after some mild calendar stalking tells her he won’t be out of his meeting for a while. A couple days later, she returns to her own desk to find a huge, steaming mug of coffee from the cafe down the street. It takes a few pointed exchanges with Jian Yu over the alleged mess her sweaters are making around their shared space to get her head on straight afterwards.</p><p>The only concession she makes to the upcoming event is finding herself something to wear, which takes an hour or so of frantic trawling through Rent the Runway’s website. A text to Toph tells her nothing more than that it’ll be “fancy as fuck,” and a text to Suki is returned with a photo of a truly devastating dark green pantsuit that looks like it’d been made for her. She finally ends up choosing a nice blue dress that hopefully won’t ruffle any feathers; she places the order and resolutely pushes the entire thing out of her mind.</p><p>“Hey,” says Jin a couple days later. It takes a couple tries; Katara eventually surfaces from her monitor with what feels like physical effort, as if dragging her head out of a whirlpool. The other girl looks at her with obvious concern. “Wow. Are you—okay?”</p><p>She blinks. It’s still daylight, she realizes. It feels like the sun is stabbing a million pins into her eyeballs. A cold, soggy bowl of noodles sits abandoned by her mouse. “Uh,” she says, and blinks again. </p><p>“Yeah,” says Jin, not unsympathetically. She’s a year older and has moved on to actually managing younger associates. The first years are all still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about their shiny new responsibilities and shiny new salaries in a way that feels vaguely nauseating to anyone who’s spent a few nights past midnight at the office. Katara can’t imagine putting up with their enthusiasm on top of running models. “Listen,” continues Jin, “you wanna maybe grab a coffee? Perk up?”</p><p>“I’d love to, but I’m supposed to review these numbers with Xiyi in thirty minutes,” she replies. An amorphous pounding sensation starts to make itself known in her head; coffee does sound good, if only to stave off the vicious side effects of her caffeine dependency, but she doesn’t have the ten minutes to spare.</p><p>“Oh, I totally meant grabbing some from the new machine.” Jin actually laughs at her look of incomprehension. “Where have you been? Whole floor’s been talking about it since it was installed this morning.”</p><p>“Um,” says Katara, then stops, because a truly insane possibility has suddenly struck her. </p><p>Jin gives her a pitying look. “You’d better go check it out.”</p><p>She does. There’s a small knot of people hovering around the counter; they part way to allow her a glimpse at the new machine, sleek and silver, complete with a brand new set of pods. She ignores its siren call to pull open the fridge door.</p><p>Two jugs of milk stare back at her from inside. </p><p>“That asshole,” she mutters, to the consternation of a couple first years.</p><p> </p><p>She finally kisses her model goodbye after the last client call on Friday afternoon, during which the VP they’ve been liaising with barely listens to her explanation of the output. “So we’re still not showing the whitespace opportunity of a billion dollars?” he asks. There’s a weird snapping noise coming through the line, like he’s chewing gum.</p><p>Xiyi does her best to kiss ass while still pointing out that a <em> billion fucking dollars </em> of growth space is, frankly, laughable. Katara contents herself with sending a series of angry gifs to Aang over Facebook Messenger. He doesn’t respond, probably because he’s busy saving a turtleduck from imminent death or something. She sits through another hour of incomprehensible droning before the line finally clicks off. </p><p>“Good job, you guys,” says Xiyi, managing a smile. The new kid sitting next to Katara nearly vibrates off his chair with delight. “Let’s call it an early night.”</p><p>“Katara, I’m pulling you onto one of my accounts starting Monday,” says Pakku’s voice through the speakerphone. She startles; she hadn’t realized only the client had dialed off.</p><p>“The wastewater management project?” she asks.</p><p>“Yes. The secondary research is a mess, and the model’s looking worse.” There’s a dry silence, during which Katara tries to remember who’s been running the team. “You can catch up on Monday. Check in with Taehyun.”</p><p>“Got it.” Not a terrible VP to be working with. She lets herself feel a brief blip of pride amidst her general exhaustion: Pakku might be a grump and a tough managing director, but that just meant it was even more flattering that he’d picked her for the project. </p><p>She packs up her stuff quickly. Late afternoon sunlight is casting the city in orange and gold when she exits the office, a breeze nipping at her exposed arms. She checks the date on her phone and is forcibly reminded that summer is officially over.</p><p>The subway isn’t delayed for once, meaning she gets back to her apartment before it’s fully dark. Sokka’s already sprawled out on their couch, slack-jawed as the TV blares <em> Naked and Afraid.</em> “You think I should sign up for this?” he calls as she toes off her shoes in the entryway. </p><p>“No one wants to see you naked,” she replies, putting her purse down on the table next to him and throwing herself sideways onto their threadbare armchair. “What’s for dinner?”</p><p>“Chinese. And I’ll have you know I’m very buff!”</p><p>“Did you get wonton soup?” she asks. Gran Gran’s thick woven blanket is draped over her seat; she unfolds it and snuggles in, knees hooking over an armrest.</p><p>“Yeah, obviously. Can you <em> not </em> take your socks off while your feet are in my face?”</p><p>She stretches to wiggle her toes in front of his eyes; he pretends to gag. </p><p>Later, after they’ve destroyed their dinner, Sokka pauses on his way to his bedroom. “You gonna be good tomorrow?” he asks.</p><p>Katara, from where she’s sprawled out on the couch, keeps her gaze trained on the hazy blue television light. “Fine,” she replies, bright. “It’ll be fun.”</p><p>She doesn’t sleep a wink.</p><p> </p><p>The wedding is at the most expensive hotel in the city, because of course it is. Katara walks in, catches one glimpse of the flower displays—which definitely cost at least a year’s worth of rent —and feels her blood pressure rocket upward.</p><p>Suki whistles, long and low behind her. “Nice,” she says, dry. She looks equal parts ethereal and threatening in her pantsuit, like her beauty is a physical object she could use at any moment to beat you with. Katara fights the urge to mess with her own dress every time she looks at her.</p><p>“Where’s Toph?”</p><p>“Where’s the <em> buffet?</em>” asks Sokka.</p><p>“That’s the reception, dumbass,” replies Suki before Katara can. “I’m sure Toph’s around somewhere. Maybe we should find our seats.”</p><p>Katara makes to follow them down one of the fifty (<em>fifty!</em>) rows; Sokka frowns and points in the opposite direction. “Isn’t Zuko over there?”</p><p>She looks over to see a familiar figure slouched in his seat, much closer to the front than the chairs Suki’s making her way toward. Her heart somehow manages to both sink and beat faster. </p><p>“Right,” she says faintly. Sokka shoots her a grin before disappearing.</p><p>The crowd is slowly but surely getting louder as more people enter the hall. There’s still no sign of Toph, or even Aang. She takes a deep breath and smooths down the fabric of her skirt one more time before heading over.</p><p>“Hey,” she says as soon as she’s close enough. The syllable sticks in her throat, which is suddenly, painfully dry. </p><p>Zuko looks up. There’s a small furrow between his brows that unravels as recognition spreads over his face, followed by something less decipherable. </p><p>She’s in danger of choking on her own nerves. Is her stomach ballooning out of her dress? Does she have lipstick on her teeth? Her foundation feels heavy on her face, caked on.</p><p>“Hey,” he says. There’s a sudden flurry of limbs; his chair nearly collapses before he’s on his feet in front of her. “You, uh—you look great.”</p><p>Heat suffuses her cheeks. “Thanks,” she replies. What does she do with her hands? Have they always hung at her sides like this, useless? </p><p>He’s wearing a suit she’s never seen before, a feat given how long they’ve known each other. His tie is a red dark enough to look almost black. In her heels, she clears his shoulders; her gaze flits down to settle at his mouth.</p><p>“Did you want to—” He gestures at the seat beside him. </p><p>“Oh! Yeah, let me—” She slips between him and his seat to slide into her own. A subtle, not-unfamiliar scent registers in the second she’s closest to him; it reminds her of a fire banked low in the cold, clean and smoky. </p><p><em> Get a grip</em>, she thinks sharply. </p><p>“You get here with Sokka?” he asks once she’s settled.</p><p>“Yeah, we picked up Suki on the way. We offered to pick up Aang but I think he had to come with the Bei Fongs.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, they’re around here somewhere. Toph looked about ready to rip her hair out when I saw her last.”</p><p>She snorts. “Bets on how drunk she’ll get at the reception?”</p><p>“Bets on how drunk <em> I’ll </em> get at the reception?”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> an open bar.”</p><p>Music starts, loud and sudden, cutting off any potential response. The clamoring of the crowd immediately settles into an anticipatory buzz, with more than a few people turning around in their seats to see if the bride is entering.</p><p>Katara isn’t one of them. She can’t quite convince her gaze to shift from where a smile threatens at the corner of Zuko’s mouth. His palms lie flat against his thighs; she watches his left index finger tap idly against his kneecap, inches from where her own hands are clasped in her lap. </p><p>The next hour is both interminable and a blur. To her own surprise, a few tears well up in her eyes at the vow exchange; she’s still wiping at her cheeks as the couple exits down the aisle.</p><p>“Are you <em> crying </em>?” demands Toph’s voice from somewhere to their right, above the sounds of chairs scraping and clothes rustling as the guests prepare to adjourn to the reception hall. </p><p>“Shut up,” she says, without any heat. “Is my eyeliner ruined?”</p><p>“Gee, let me check,” Toph replies, dry.</p><p>“You’re fine,” interjects Aang. He smiles at her, looking almost like a stranger in his suit. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him wear a blazer before, except maybe for prom all those years ago.</p><p>“We should go down,” says Zuko. He touches his fingers to Toph’s elbow. “Should we go say hi to your parents?”</p><p>She scowls, nearly jerking her arm away. “No. Why don’t you and <em> Katara </em> go ahead? Aang and I will catch up.”</p><p>Katara feels her own expression tug down into a frown. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Nothing.” His voice is suddenly tight. “Come on.”</p><p>The sudden sensation of his hand on her back distracts her enough that he’s able to lead her away. Once they’re out by the elevators, she turns to face him, conscious of both the strangers milling around them and the warmth of his arm as he holds her closer. “Are you and Toph fighting?”</p><p>He’s startled. “No, why?”</p><p>She knows he’s never been able to act; the slight tension in her spine loosens. “Nothing. You both just seemed a little on edge.”</p><p>He frowns, gaze skittering away. “It’s nothing.” </p><p>The chandelier above their heads sends buttery yellow light down, softening the usually-austere angles of his face. This part of the hallway has huge floor-to-ceiling windows set into the wall; she can see a gathering gloom press against the glass. “Think it’s going to rain?”</p><p>The elevator arrives with a soft <em> ping </em>. He shoots an interested glance toward the windows before ushering her in. “Maybe,” he says before other guests press into the car. She’s quickly shunted into a corner, hip pressing almost uncomfortably into the railing that’s set against the mirrored wall. It’s not until the doors close that she realizes her shoulder is almost pressed up against Zuko’s chest. The woman in front of her shifts backward slightly; his hand is warm against her bare arm as he instinctively guides her a little closer to him in response.</p><p>She’s suddenly, absurdly concerned she’ll rub foundation off on his pristine shirt. He shifts in place, eyes fixed on the floor display as they slowly slide upwards; his suit jacket gapes open a little, sending a subtle, new wave of his cologne her way. </p><p>The doors finally open after what feels like an eternity. She’s almost light-headed by the time she disembarks. “Ready?” he asks, oblivious. </p><p>She forces down the heat threatening to rise to her cheeks. “Ready.”</p><p>The reception hall is almost indistinguishable from the wedding hall save the obvious reconfiguration of the seats. She immediately spots Suki sitting at the table they’ve all been assigned to; she assumes Sokka’s already attacking the buffet. They make their way over to where Suki sits and are shortly joined by Toph and Aang, then Sokka, who is managing two truly enormous plates of food. The music starts soon after, as does the drinking. Katara gets a little teary-eyed again at the first dance between the newlyweds, much to Toph’s disgust. Sokka manages to convince Suki to stand up for a dance as soon as their plates are empty. Aang nudges Toph, who shakes her head; he offers a hand to Katara instead, who accepts it with a grin.</p><p>“So, how have things been with you, <em> really?</em>” she asks, as soon as they’ve settled into a somewhat steady rhythm. “I don’t think I got the full rundown of what you’ve been up to.”</p><p>Aang smiles brightly. “It’s been a lot of traveling,” he says. “It’s hard work, but I’ve been seeing so much of the world. I’m actually really excited to head out again in a few weeks.”</p><p>Her pang of regret at having only so much time to spend with him is softened by the clear enthusiasm in his voice. “I’m so happy for you,” she says. “It sounds like you’ve found something you’re really passionate about.”</p><p>His smile turns gentle. “You’re almost there too, Katara. Sokka says you’re nearly ready to start applying to med school. That’s great!”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m getting there.” She looks down at their feet, barely shuffling as they sway from side to side. “These past few years have been important to me too, though. I think I got some formative experiences out of them, good and bad.”</p><p>He squeezes her hand. “Don’t worry, they’ll be behind you soon. You’re about to start a whole new chapter of your life.”</p><p>The room is only half-lit but she can still see over his shoulder, well enough to catch a glimpse of Zuko. He’s sprawled out over his seat, head in one hand as he chats with Toph. There’s an easy expression on his face that makes her ache, just a little. “Yeah,” she says, and med school is probably the last thing on her mind.</p><p>He catches her looking at him. The unfamiliar expression he’d worn when he first saw her, up in the wedding hall, washes over his face again as she watches. Then he’s getting to his feet.</p><p>“Hey,” he says, and Aang turns to look at him. “Mind if I cut in? Toph keeps kicking me under the table.”</p><p>“Sure,” says Aang. Katara manages a nod. “Is she bored?”</p><p>“She keeps suggesting ways to liven up the party, and most of them involve breaking the law.” </p><p>Aang just laughs. “Okay, I’ll refill her drink and see how she feels. Have fun!”</p><p>Zuko doesn’t take her hand right away. “Are you sure you still want to dance?” he asks. “We can head back to the table if you want to sit instead.”</p><p>“No, that’s alright,” she says. She’s known him for long enough that she can see past the stiffness of his expression to reveal his nerves. It makes her smile. “Come on, you owe me a decent dance after seniors’ ball.”</p><p>It softens the lines around his mouth, as she’d hoped. “That wasn’t that bad,” he says, finally taking her hand.</p><p>“My toes were in pain for days,” she protests, laughing. Her own palm settles on his chest. His skin is warm under the thin weave of his shirt, burning the two fingertips that lie there rather than against his jacket.</p><p>“Was it enough to make you regret calling our truce?” he asks, and there’s a sweet satisfaction that comes with realizing they’re far enough past their bumpy history to joke about it.</p><p>“Almost,” she says. “It’s really Sokka’s fault; he kept insisting there was some good to you.”</p><p>“I’ve always known I’m very indebted to Sokka,” he replies, and there’s a little more weight to it than she would’ve expected. </p><p>The room is, maybe, a bit dimmer than it was before. The band has shifted into a softer song. She counts Zuko as one of her closest friends, and knows he thinks the same of her, meaning close proximity is, while not common, not wholly unfamiliar. She’s spent many movie nights knocking her elbow against his as she reaches for popcorn, late nights at college and then the office leaning closer to read a shared textbook or presentation. But his hand is big and warm on her waist, and if she takes half a step closer, she’d be able to rest her forehead on his shoulder. The novelty of it sends a shiver down her spine.</p><p>“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” she says. She barely remembers the day, can only recall a dim sense of angry righteousness flooding her chest at the audacity of this rich kid sitting slumped and bored in the back of the auditorium, answering their econ professor’s questions in a way that would’ve told her just what social class he belonged to even if he hadn’t been wearing <em> designer sweatpants</em>. </p><p>“What, freshman year? Seven years now, I think,” he replies. His voice is almost hoarse under the straining cello. His thumb slides an inch down the curve of her hipbone. “We’ll start getting along any day now.”</p><p>Her laugh this time is horrifyingly breathless. He’s <em> so </em>warm. It’s all she can do to keep her spine rigid under his touch, to keep from sinking into the heat he radiates. Another couple moseys by, swaying into each other along her left shoulder; he pulls her a little closer to let them pass. </p><p>Heat’s rising to her face again. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, when a rumble of thunder unfurls overhead. Guests around them pause, looking up in unison.</p><p>Zuko looks up too. His hair is long enough to almost brush against her fingers. “Sounds like you were right about the rain,” he says. </p><p>“I’m never wrong about storms,” she replies, and he grins at her, sudden and bright in the gloom.</p><p> </p><p>It’s with the full understanding that she’s being ridiculous that Katara takes a little extra time with her outfit on Monday morning. There’s only so much you can do with a business casual dress code, but she does put on a pencil skirt for the first time in a while, like an idiot.</p><p>“Presentation today?” asks Sokka through a half-chewed mouthful of breakfast. </p><p>She grimaces. “No. Please swallow.”</p><p>The subway is congested, as per usual. She rides the seven stops to her office with one person’s elbow jabbing into her kidney while another person’s coffee slops around precariously in a half-open tumbler right above her purse. It doesn’t actually spill, thankfully, but the experience is so harrowing that she has a hard time concentrating on her news podcast. Still, a young mother boards with her baby on the second stop, and Katara has a good time making funny faces at him as he giggles, delighted.</p><p>She’s finally disgorged onto the correct platform by 8:40, giving her just enough time to swipe into the building, say hello to Ty Lee at reception, put her stuff down at her desk, and head into the kitchen. “Oh, hi,” she says to the somewhat familiar face already using the Keurig. “Uh—Hyun-ki, right?”</p><p>He looks briefly terrified at being addressed. First year, then. “Right,” he stammers. </p><p>Katara smiles. “Nice day out, huh? Did you have a good weekend?”</p><p>“Yes,” Hyun-ki says. “Did you?”</p><p>“Oh, it was pretty good. Too short.” The Keurig sputters to a stop. “Is there any blonde roast left?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah.” They trade places. Katara finds her mug among the million drying around the sink (she’d painted a clumsy facsimile of Hokusai’s <em> Great Wave </em> on the side during some student org’s pottery paint night in college) and drops a pod into its slot just as the door opens again.</p><p>“Oh, there you are,” says Zuko’s voice. </p><p>A flutter of anticipation makes itself known in her stomach. “Hey,” she says, turning around. There’s no way to control the smile on her face. “Looking for me?”</p><p>“Kind of. Hi there,” he adds to Hyun-ki, who squeaks.</p><p>“What’s up?” she asks.</p><p>He leans against the counter half a foot from where she stands. “Wanted to say thanks for Saturday.”</p><p>She presses the button on the machine and looks up at him. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“You know, for coming with me.” His gaze is steady on her face, earnest. “I know it was a little awkward.”</p><p>“No, I had fun! Maybe I was just a bad date,” she jokes.</p><p>“No, that’s not it,” Zuko replies, and he’s still looking intently at her. “I mean—I know Toph kind of forced us into it, and it might’ve been awkward going to a wedding with a friend.”</p><p>She catches a flash of Hyun-ki fleeing the scene. The Keurig groans and rattles.</p><p>“Oh,” she says, and it’s like her voice belongs to someone else. It’s buoyant, at stark odds with the slow, cold feeling creeping across her skin. “No, it was fine, Zuko. Really.”</p><p>“Okay.” He even looks relieved. “Good. I thought I might as well check in. It’s just—you’re a really good friend, you know? I was thinking about it yesterday and it wasn’t—I wanted to make sure you didn’t feel weird about it, I guess.”</p><p>Her smile is fixed in place. “Nope, totally fine,” she says. “Don’t worry.”</p><p>The morning light coming in through the windows gilds his features in bright gold. His expression is soft, radiant. It hurts to look at him for too long. “Great. Hey, do you have time to get lunch together today? I can ask Ty Lee, too.”</p><p>“Sounds good,” she manages. He gives her a smile and leaves, door shutting soundlessly behind him.</p><p>The Keurig hisses to a stop. After an interminable silence, she picks up her mug with nerveless fingers and goes back to her desk.</p><p> </p><p>The following month is wholly lost to late nights at the office and a sudden, sharp turn toward frigid temperatures. She barely sees anyone outside of work other than Sokka, and even then it’s just for five minutes in the morning while she shoves half-congealed congee into her mouth before running out to meet the subway. She’s usually too tired to remember her own name, let alone make decent conversation with him, which is why she probably shouldn’t be too surprised when Suki calls.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, straightening up at her desk. Her back groans in protest. “How are you?”</p><p>“How are <em> you? </em>” Suki replies. “Sokka says you haven’t been sleeping.”</p><p>A spurt of irritation washes over her. “Things are fine,” she says, somewhat clipped. “Give me a second, let me find an empty conference room.”</p><p>“You’re still at work?”</p><p>It’s only eight o’clock. “Yeah, but I’ll be leaving soon,” she lies. Jian Yu shoots her a dirty look when she passes by his desk; she fights the urge to stick out her tongue. There’s a tiny conference room past his cubicle, which is thankfully empty. She shuts the door. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“Nothing, he was just concerned. You know how he is.”</p><p>“And he’s making you do the emotional labor for him?” It comes out a little waspish; a sharp prick of regret pierces through her annoyance. “Sorry, I’m just—tired.”</p><p>Suki hums. “Busy project?”</p><p>“Yeah, kind of. It’ll be over in a week, so I just have to power through until then.” She rubs at her eyes; it feels like Excel formulas are dancing across the backs of her eyelids. Her fingers actually hurt from typing.</p><p>“Has Zuko been helping at all?”</p><p>She stiffens a little despite herself. “No, he’s not staffed on this.”</p><p>“Oh.” There’s a heavy pause. “Well, I meant on a more personal level.”</p><p>Katara frowns. “I’m not going to ask him to pull any favors for me.”</p><p>There’s an even longer pause this time. Finally, Suki sighs. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and ask, because you know I don’t have the patience for this stuff: aren’t you guys dating now?”</p><p>Panic zips down her spine. “Um, <em> what?</em>”</p><p>“I mean, you guys went to that wedding together.”</p><p>“Yeah, because Toph <em> asked us to</em>.”</p><p>“And… you agreed to go as each other’s dates?”</p><p>“He agreed first!” Katara is aware of the fact that her voice is getting steadily louder but she can’t help it. “What is this, another one of her weird pranks?”</p><p>“Okay, listen, I made some assumptions I shouldn’t have,” replies Suki. “I’m sorry, I just thought you guys had worked it out.”</p><p>“Worked <em> what </em> out? You know what, don’t answer that.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m calling Toph.”</p><p>“Look, go easy on her,” Suki says, in what Katara’s come to recognize as the tone of resigned caution that all her friends use when mediating a fight between the two of them. “I’m sure she’s just trying to help.”</p><p>“We’ll see about that,” she mutters, before hanging up and immediately dialing Toph. It takes two tries, after which she picks up with a jaunty, “What?”</p><p>“What are you <em> doing?</em>” Katara snaps.</p><p>“Uh, setting up my drums closer to my front door. I’m thinking my parents should see it right when they walk in, for maximum annoyance.”</p><p>“I mean with Zuko. Why did you really invite us to that wedding?”</p><p>She’s quiet for long enough that Katara thinks, for a split second, that maybe she’s overreacting. Toph immediately shatters this illusion by breaking out into peals of laughter. “Wait, have you guys <em> still </em> not figured your shit out? Holy shit.”</p><p>“Toph,” Katara growls, and part of her can’t believe she’s twenty-five years old, gainfully employed, currently <em> at her office</em>, and still yelling at Toph like they’re still in high school. “What are you talking about.”</p><p>“I thought I’d be helpful for once, it’s not my fault you move at the speed of sloth-snails.”</p><p>“Do not,” she hisses, “tell me you jumped to some conclusions.”</p><p>“What, that you’re warm for his form? I think people on the Moon know that, Sugar Queen.”</p><p>There’s a hot, prickly feeling spreading across her cheeks. “I can’t believe you,” she cries, equal parts infuriated and mortified. “Toph, we’re <em> people</em>, not—not <em> video game characters </em> you can shove together!” </p><p>“I don’t think you understand what video games are about,” replies Toph, but her voice has descended from gleeful to half-serious. “Are you—why are you embarrassed?”</p><p>“Why am I <em> embarrassed?</em>” she echoes. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because one of my best friends practically forced one of my other best friends to go on a pseudo-date with me, like I was some pathetic stalker!”</p><p>“Is that what you think happened? Wow, this is worse than I thought.”</p><p>“I’m going to hang up on you. Talk to you never.”</p><p>“Okay, wait, wait—look,” says Toph, and she’s fully serious now. That more than anything alarms Katara, who can probably count on one hand the number of times she’s heard Toph’s voice free of sarcasm. “I’ll admit the wedding excuse was totally bogus,” she continues, and another hot wave of embarrassment washes over her. “But you bought it because you’re not used to these society things, right? You had no clue that’s not how this works.”</p><p>“This is not making me feel even a little better.”</p><p>“My <em> point </em> is, Zuko was born into this shit just like me. He knows exactly how this works, and he would’ve smelled bullshit almost as soon as I opened my mouth to ask him to do this for me. He <em> did </em> smell bullshit. But he said yes anyway, right? Why do you think that is?” She doesn’t give her a chance to answer. “He was practically falling over himself as soon as I mentioned you could tag along as his date.”</p><p>Katara opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Don’t meddle in my life,” is what comes out.</p><p>Toph groans. “Come on, sweetness, I’m practically handing this to you on a silver platter!”</p><p>“The content of what you’re saying doesn’t matter if your delivery hurts your listener’s feelings.” This is what being around Toph inevitably does to her: the fussiness in her tone is both unfamiliar and deeply reminiscent of when they were all fourteen and stupid. </p><p>“Don’t throw away this opportunity just because I saw it before you did,” replies the other woman instead of immediately hanging up, and Katara has to grapple with the unsettling possibility that Toph is acting more maturely than she is. “Come on, it’s taken you long enough already.”</p><p><em> You’re a really good friend</em>, says Zuko’s voice in her head.</p><p>“I need to think about it,” she mutters.</p><p>Toph groans. “Can you not take like, a million more years?”</p><p>One day, Katara will figure out a method of ending a phone conversation with her that isn’t hanging up abruptly. Today is not that day.</p><p> </p><p>The weekend comes with another sharp dip downwards on the thermometer. Katara wakes up shivering and pads downstairs to find Suki prodding at something on the stove, barefoot and bundled into Sokka’s sweatshirt. Sokka’s gone already; the clock above the dining room table reads 12:35, which means he’s halfway through his third class for the day.</p><p>“Miso?” asks Suki. She catches her glance at the thermostat. “I turned it on as soon as he left.”</p><p>“Cheapskate,” Katara mutters, no real bite to it.</p><p>“He says it’s because he never gets cold,” she replies, a knowing laugh in her voice, and Katara enters the kitchen to help scoop steaming rice out of their tiny cooker.</p><p>They settle into their seats shortly. Her bones loosen a little as warm soup slides down her throat to settle in her stomach. The rice is a little dry, just the way she likes it. Suki slurps unabashedly and gets seconds quick. Katara hogs most of the plain egg omelet. </p><p>“How’s work?” she asks once their chopsticks slow down. </p><p>Suki shrugs. “Holiday season soon, so things are slowing down. People are too happy to be thinking about self-defense.”</p><p>“No interesting bodyguard work?”</p><p>“I think old Nakamura’s thinking about retiring, actually.”</p><p>“Really? About time; isn’t she almost 80?”</p><p>“Something like that.” She dips her spoon into Katara’s soup bowl to fish out a chunk of tofu. “She’s been throwing more admin work my way.”</p><p>Katara raises her eyebrows. “Does that mean…?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” A secretive sort of smile slips onto Suki’s face. “But yeah, I’ve been pretty open about the fact that I’d like to own the place.”</p><p>Katara lets out a high-pitched shriek. “Suki! Congratulations, you’re <em> totally </em> going to get it! I <em> knew </em> Nakamura liked you, she’s almost a big softie when it comes to you.”</p><p>She laughs. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. You know how contrary she is, if I even breathe the wrong way she’ll decide to run the business till she dies <em> and </em> make sure it’s dissolved once she’s buried.”</p><p>“Okay, fine, fine, lips sealed for now. But this is so <em> exciting! </em> Have you said anything to Sokka?”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s already talking about including us in the tournament brackets. You know how excited he gets.”</p><p>“You two literally never think about anything other than work, huh?”</p><p>“Hey, look who’s talking. I’m surprised you’re even awake after pulling that many sleepless nights in a row. I know I’d still be knocked out.”</p><p>Katara sighs. “I’m quitting soon.”</p><p>“Yeah, to go to <em> med school</em>. How are you feeling about that?”</p><p>“Honestly, I don’t know.” All the miso paste has settled to the bottom of her bowl; she stirs her spoon in the soup and watches the creamy swirls rise to the top again. “Aang said at least the job will be behind me, which I guess is reassuring.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“I don’t know… I complained a lot to him over the past three years, and he was saying… you know—I don’t have to put up with it all anymore.”</p><p>“So you’re just relieved it’s over?”</p><p>Katara frowns in contemplation. “No, I mean… I think Aang has always been less… attached than me,” she says, slow. “Not about everything, but at least about experiences. He’s always ready to tackle the next big thing. And he knows it’s been a little rough for me, at least sometimes. So I think he thinks I’m ready to completely move on.”</p><p>“Aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah, most of the time I think I am.” She can feel the words starting to bubble up inside her; one look at Suki’s expression has them bursting out. “But what if I’m wrong? Med school isn’t exactly a joke. What if I think I’m ready to start all over again and it turns out to be way harder than I thought?” Her voice sounds funny, high-pitched. “It’s not like I can just go back to the way things are right now if it does turn out to be a mistake. And what if that’s what it is? Just one huge, <em> expensive </em> mistake?”</p><p>Suki reaches across the table to grab her hand. “Hey, breathe. You good?”</p><p>Katara releases her death grip on her spoon. “I—yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p>“Look, you want this, right? Forget about how hard it’s going to be and all the things you’re worried about. When you really think about it, this is what you want, right? You’ve wanted this for years.”</p><p>She exhales. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Okay then. I’m not going to tell you it won’t be hard, but you’ve gotten through hard things before.” Suki’s hand is warm, comforting. “This won’t break you. You want it too badly to let it do that.”</p><p>“What if I can’t make it work?” she whispers.</p><p>“Then you’ll drop it and find the next thing you want,” Suki replies, unfailingly practical. “And that’ll be okay too. But at least you’ll have tried, right? And you won’t be wondering <em> what if </em>years later.”</p><p> A cloud passes over the sun outside the window beside them. Katara can almost feel the humidity gathering in the atmosphere. <em> A storm’s about to break</em>, she thinks, and pushes herself away from the table. “I have to go,” she says, and Suki doesn’t bat an eyelid.</p><p>“See you later,” she says. “Good luck.”</p><p> </p><p>His apartment’s quite a few subway stops away, almost on the other side of town. Small raindrops start hitting her head as she exits the station. It’s quieter up here, more residential; the sound of water starting to swirl into the gutters is a quiet drone in her ears. </p><p>His building’s an intimidating glass and steel structure set amid a sea of other glass and steel structures. The clean, stark lines of marble and chrome that sketch out his lobby almost make her itch with discomfort. Still, the doorman recognizes her, and soon she’s in the silent elevator car on her way to the 26th floor. </p><p>She disembarks. Her hands are shaking. She finds his door and knocks on it anyway. The sound echoes down the long hallway, muffled by the thick carpet underfoot. </p><p>It takes him only a few seconds to answer. He looks like he’s been up for hours. He’s wearing a familiar maroon sweater and actual jeans, despite it being a weekend; she’s acutely aware of the fact that she hasn’t even brushed her hair. </p><p>He looks startled. “Uh—hi? Are you—is everything alright?”</p><p>“Can I come in?” she asks. Her voice is steady; small miracles.</p><p>“Of course, yeah.” He pulls the door open wider. She slips past him to toe off her sneakers. The marble floor is chilly through her thin socks. “Katara, what…?”</p><p>She shakes her head and heads to the living room. Her heart is pounding, rhythmic and maddening, a rush of sound in her ears. His footsteps are quiet behind her. </p><p>The living room is dim. Everything is grey and muted through the huge windows surrounding them. She can see a still-steaming mug of tea set on the table beside the couch, a face-down novel beside it. <em> Jasmine, </em> she thinks, and finally turns around to face him. </p><p>He’s wearing a quizzical expression, one that’s tinged slightly with worry. “Let me just… talk for a minute, okay?” she says, and he nods. Rain streaks down the glass, a hushed drumming noise. She takes a deep breath. “A month or so ago, when Toph called me to ask me to go to that wedding with you—she asked me for a reason.”</p><p>Discomfort has already squirmed its way onto his face. “Look—”</p><p>“Just… let me finish?” A pause before he nods. “Toph asked me for a reason. And the reason was that I… I think I’m in love with you.”</p><p>Silence. The rain starts beating down harder.</p><p>Something’s lodged in her throat. She fights it down to continue. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to say anything. I know you said we’re friends, and I really—I don’t want to lose that. That’s the most important thing to me.”</p><p>He’s frozen, just a few paces from where she stands. She can’t imagine crossing that gap. “Katara,” he says, hoarse.</p><p>“I don’t want to make it weird or make you feel uncomfortable,” she says. She’s still shaking, a fine tremor wringing her out. “I know it’s not fair to you, telling you this. But I guess I… I needed to say it. To get it off my chest.”</p><p>“Katara,” he says again. He takes a step toward her. “I—are you sure?”</p><p>She’s going to cry. There’s a tremble fighting to make itself known in her voice. “Yes,” she says. It grates, barely audible under a sudden peal of thunder. “But I swear, I won’t ask you to—Zuko, let’s not lose each other over this, please, I—”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” he says, molten and cracked open, before he’s bridging the distance between them to kiss her.</p><p>His hands send shockwaves of heat across her skin where they grip her waist. Her fingers slide through his hair. His mouth is almost harsh on hers before they even out; she runs her palms down to his shoulders to hold him closer. Her heart beats frantically in her ribcage, blood wild and racing. </p><p>Eons pass before they draw back, or maybe just seconds. Katara rests her forehead on his and feels a warm weight slip down her spine, settle in her stomach. “You okay?” she whispers.</p><p>“I love you too,” he replies, and relief bursts bright and sweet between them. </p><p>She intertwines her hands with his own. A crack of lightning splits the sky.</p><p> </p><p>The last day of work is, somewhat predictably, a bittersweet one. Some of her more thoughtful coworkers present her with a farewell card signed by nearly everyone in the office. She even spots Jian Yu’s hastily scribbled signature in a corner, though he finds some excuse to avoid the mini going-away party in their floor’s break room. “Can’t win them all,” she reflects as she packs up the last of her belongings.</p><p>“What?” says Zuko, approaching her desk. She shakes her head with a smile.</p><p>They wage a quick but devastating battle to see who’ll carry the heavier of her two bags. She loses, so she hefts the lighter bundle over her shoulder and takes one last look around.</p><p>“Happy it’s over?” he asks, quiet.</p><p>“I think I might miss it,” she muses as they head to the elevator bank. “I got some pretty good things out of it. Pakku’s recommendation letter, for one.”</p><p>“I still don’t know how you managed that.”</p><p>“I have my ways.”</p><p>The subway ride back home is quick. Suki opens the door before Katara can dig her keys out and raises an eyebrow at Zuko’s bulging backpack. “Found a use for him, huh?” she says, and he scowls.</p><p>Toph and Aang are already inside, the latter browned from his latest deployment halfway round the world. “Full house,” says Katara, setting her things down. Toph slings a punch at Zuko’s shoulder, which he graciously accepts with minimal grumbling. </p><p>“I’m Zuko and I’m <em> so in love </em> I’m willing to be a <em> pack mule</em>,” Toph grunts in a truly terrible impression, and Aang hoots with laughter.</p><p>“Don’t be mean,” Katara says, automatic, and Toph groans.</p><p>“You’re such a <em> mom</em>,” she whines, before a too-familiar glint enters her eyes. “Wait, does that mean <em> Zuko’s</em>—”</p><p>“Nooope,” says Suki, setting a tray of cupcakes down on the dining room table. “Absolutely not. Have one of these instead.”</p><p>“What?” says Aang. Katara, face flaming, retreats to the kitchen.</p><p>Sokka’s in the middle of making a controlled mess over the stove. “Hey,” he says, grinning. “Look familiar?”</p><p>She peers into the big pot simmering away. “Is that… Mom’s stew?”</p><p>“Yeah, I called Dad a few days ago and he gave me the recipe. Looks good, right?”</p><p>Her eyes, abruptly, start stinging. “It looks really good,” she chokes out, and Sokka drops his ladle in a panic.</p><p>“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Oh man, I thought you’d like it!”</p><p>“I love it,” she says, watery. “Sokka, this is so <em> thoughtful</em>.”</p><p>“Well, you know.” He wraps an arm around her shoulders. “She’d be so proud of you. Her baby girl, admitted to her top choice, off to be a fancy doctor. Saving lives!”</p><p>She sniffles. “We’ll see. I have to survive med school first.”</p><p>“Aw, you’ll do great.” He squeezes one more time before letting go. “Rice is almost done. Wanna get the bowls?”</p><p>She nods and opens up their cabinets. Loud voices filter through from the dining room, where it sounds like Toph and Suki are talking about some wrestling match while Aang fills Zuko in on his latest attempts to adopt a flying lemur. Then: “Uh, I wanted that one.”</p><p>“Just take the chocolate one.”</p><p>“I wanted <em> that </em>one. I like matcha better, you know I do.”</p><p>“Okay, well, losers weepers.”</p><p>“Toph—!”</p><p>“Oh come on, don’t be such a baby—<em> hey! </em> Give it back!”</p><p>“What was it you just said? Something about losers? <em> Ouch!</em>”</p><p>Katara sighs. “I thought we were supposed to be adults now,” she says, and Sokka snorts.</p><p>“Yeah, that’ll be the day. Some things never change.”</p><p>She gives up on the bowls to peek around the corner. It looks like Toph’s got Zuko in a headlock while Suki laughs. Aang looks conflicted about whether to intervene. She makes eye contact with Zuko, who gives her a truly long-suffering look. She grins at him and watches as a small, slow smile works its way across his face in response.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know,” she says finally, turning back to Sokka. “I'm starting to think the important things do.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Can you tell this is a Suki stan account or</p></blockquote></div></div>
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